Matchmaker
by OneBlondeWeirdo
Summary: After a chance encounter with an intriguing sorceress, Gwaine must overcome his fears created by past experiences and try to save the girl that might be his undoing. A story for the knight who really needed a love interest that wasn't taken... or a traitor. AU- basically pretending that most of the finale never happened. But magic is legal and mostly accepted (yay).


**_To be quite honest, I did not like the finale. At all. I really liked Gwaine, and Arthur, and anyone else they may have killed off (but I was too busy mourning my poor Gwaine to notice anything else). In fact, the only thing that I actually enjoyed about the episode was Merlin's magic reveal. I rather enjoyed that part. So, I decided to write a story for Gwaine—who really needed a new love interest—assuming that in the series finale Arthur and all the knights (except Mordred) were somehow saved but Merlin had still revealed his powers and Arthur had still accepted them._**

**_It's a bit odd, I know, and I'm probably insane for even attempting something this strange when it's my first fanfiction for this fandom. Oh, well :) _**

**_This is set after the show ended, obviously, so it probably won't refer to much of the events of the series. However, there might be spoilers for stuff that I don't realize. And, also, I might get a lot of facts and such wrong because I haven't watched much of the series in a very long while._**

**_And, as if you didn't already figure it out after reading my list of grievances, I don't own Merlin..._**

_**On with the fic!**_

To be perfectly honest, Gwaine should have expected something like this to happen. When did any of their quests ever go as planned?

He had let his guard down. Ever since Arthur legalized the use of peaceful magic, things had been going relatively well. All of a sudden, all the revenge-seeking sorcerers and crazed warlocks had lost their will to fight. The King was no longer a threat, after all. It had been a very serene six months; however, peaceful environments had a tendency to drive Gwaine crazy.

He'd been to the tavern more times in the past few months than he had throughout his entire lifetime. He had even broken his previous record of 'amount of liquor consumed in one night', appalling all of the maidens and earning him a severe tongue-lashing from his King.

Now, having cut down a bit on his alcohol consumption, he was on a hunting trip with Arthur and the rest of the knights. And Merlin, of course. Arthur had never been one to leave his manservant behind at home, but now that he knew about the magical properties of said servant, he was even less inclined to leave him anywhere. Although the King might deny it over and over, it was clear that he feared for Merlin's safety. Certain nobles claimed that Camelot had been better off without the uninhibited use of magic, and a few had taken matters into their own hands. One had tried to summarily execute Merlin on a previous hunting trip. In short, Arthur disliked having his manservant out of his sight.

Up until now, this hunting trip had been uneventful. _Too_ uneventful—they hadn't been able to catch anything, because no matter how much magic Merlin had, he was still a clumsy young man who had yet to grow into his long limbs. Just by walking beside Arthur's horse, he had managed to make enough noise to scare of every woodland creature in the forest (or, at least, it seemed that way).

But now, Merlin had managed to trip on a tree root and sprain his wrist, and then it had begun to rain. Hard. Arthur had insisted upon taking refuge in the nearest cottage, both to bandage Merlin's wound and to protect his knights from the storm. And Gwaine couldn't help but feel like there was something… off… about this particular cottage.

For one thing, it was much too quiet. Despite the raging of the wind outside, in the cottage, every scrape of a boot, every sigh and every cough could be easily heard. It was almost like the cottage was enchanted (and although magic was no longer outlawed, the feel of it still sometimes gave Gwaine the creeps).

"There's nothing wrong with this place, Gwaine," Merlin insisted. "I would feel it—ow!"

"Sorry," Arthur grimaced along with his servant as he splinted the injured wrist.

"S'alright."

"How do you know that you'd feel it?" Gwaine insisted. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. "This place is _empty_, but it looks to be perfectly clean and orderly. It's almost like it's only just been abandoned."

"What does that matter?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."

Merlin gave his King a knowing smile and remarked, "I think Gwaine's hit the mead a bit harder lately, don't you?" Arthur's response was a breathy chuckle and a raise of the eyebrows. Gwaine let out of a frustrated huff and stormed out, desperately in need of some space.

Once he could no longer hear the sounds of his friends' amusement, he slumped down against the wall and put his head in his hands. It had been a rough six months, full of tainted memories of Eira. Her face filled his mind—pale, near-white skin and light blond locks that cascaded down her back. She had been beautiful, and unique, and none of his silly _conquests_ could ever measure up to her. He had thought her to be the love of his life, but she had betrayed him. And now that magic was free, he couldn't help but wonder how everything might have turned out differently if it had never been made illegal in the first place.

Would Morgana have become evil had her magical powers been properly understood? No, of course not. And then his Eira would never have made the choice to ally herself with the witch.

Deep down, Gwaine knew that wasn't the truth. Eira had hidden it well, but there was darkness inside of her, formed by the hatred for those who killed her family. She had never truly been innocent, no matter how doe-like and calming her gazes had been. She would have found some other evil to join, and he knew it.

But Gwaine was tired of feeling sorry for himself, and mourning the past. No—he was tired of feeling anything at all. He pulled out his flask and prepared to take a sip.

"Don't move!"

He froze, compelled to obey the person. A blade was placed at his throat, but it was shaking violently. He thought back to the voice from a few seconds ago, the one which had commanded him not to move. Had it belonged to a woman?

"Calm yourself, my lady. I mean you no harm," he tried, but the blade only pressed harder against his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to look past it. He honestly didn't want to hurt the lass, that was the truth; he also didn't want to meet his death at the hands of some fair maiden. The latter fear won out over the former, and he slowly began to pull his sword from its sheath, doing his best not to make a sound. Unfortunately, the girl noticed.

"If you don't stop that, I'll cut off your hand." He stilled. "Good boy. Now, please get up."

At that request, his suspicions were confirmed. She was inexperienced, and this was likely her first time threatening anyone. When he got up, it would allow him to more easily access his weapon and defend himself. He did as she asked, slowly rising to his feet.

When he got to a fully upright position, the sword she was holding was far enough from his throat that he was suddenly able to catch a glimpse of her face. He couldn't help the (embarrassingly feminine) gasp of horror that escaped him.

Blond hair… pale skin…

No. It wasn't Eira, of course it wasn't. The face shape was all wrong, and the eyes were different. They were still blue, but they were darker. Eira's eyes had been the clearest of blues, and they had been carefully innocent (they had seemed so untainted, he remembered). These eyes were a darker, greener blue, and they made no effort to hide their pain. No shred of innocence remained in this maiden, and Gwaine wasn't sure quite how to feel about that. Her hair was lighter than Eira's, as well. Longer, too.

"Who are you?" he wondered aloud, and he instantly squeezed his eyes shut. Asking your captor personal questions was never a good idea, unless you knew a bit more about them. Fortunately, the girl was pretty forthcoming.

"Willa," she said. The turmoil that played out across her face revealed that she clearly hadn't wanted to tell him that. It had been instinct. Speaking of instinctual tendencies, Gwaine's fingers were getting increasingly twitchy. His sword was right there… if he could just reach it…

"Why are you trying to kill me, Willa?" he asked, gritting his teeth. For some odd reason, his body had locked up, and he was unable to even reach for his trusty weapon. Not that it would do him much good. If he had been right earlier, and there was dark magic in this place, no sword would help him. In fact, he was probably already a dead man walking. But Gwaine was a knight of the round table, sworn to serve his King until he died. He had to try something.

At his inquiry, Willa's brow furrowed. Her grip on the sword loosened slightly, before tightening again abruptly, so fierce that her knuckles turned white.

"I don't want to kill anyone." Her voice was surprisingly steady, and Gwaine felt a rush of admiration despite his obvious fear.

"The blade at my throat suggests differently," Gwaine pointed out, "and I am inclined to believe that you have something to do with the fact that I am, at present, unable to move."

His joints were suddenly freed, and he stumbled, trying and failing to stay upright at the sudden rush of magic that coursed throughout his body. When it disappeared just as quickly, he found himself missing it. He crashed to the ground, and Willa squeaked out an apology.

"I'm so sorry, I'm still trying to get the hang of… things…"

"You mean magic?" Gwaine asked, pulling himself to his feet. He wanted to feel sorry for the lass, but it didn't escape his notice that her sword hadn't yet moved from its dangerous position. Her eyes hardened.

"Yes. Magic."

Before she could say anything else, he used the distraction to pull his sword out and knock away hers.

It didn't fall out of her hand though, and he was confused, because he had seen this maneuver work on the most seasoned of warriors. Just the other day, he'd been practicing with Percival, and this tactic had been enough to win the match and unarm the muscled man. But, for some reason, Willa still held her sword. Maybe he'd been wrong when he'd assumed that she was inexperienced.

"You want to fight me?" he scoffed, trying for condescending. Maybe if he could intimidate her and give her a good scare she would surrender, and he could take her into the other room and have Merlin subdue her with his magic. He'd tease the King and the servant for not believing him, and they'd sheepishly try to defend themselves. If only it had been that simple.

"Yes." And then she was fighting him, using swordplay he'd never even seen before. It was incredible, and terrifying, but he could hold his own. He parried every blow, doing his best to land a few blows while simultaneously keeping her from getting her blade near to his throat again. It was a losing battle, and he inwardly chastised himself for downplaying her skill because she was but a girl.

She moved quickly, too. In breeches (stolen from a man's wardrobe, most likely) and a boy's tunic, she was able to duck and run and attack much faster than if she had been wearing a dress.

He finally got her backed up against a wall, and their positions from a few minutes ago was practically reversed. His blade was placed against her neck, and she was clearly trying to figure out some way to talk her way out of the situation. He was eerily aware of the fact that her sword was still in her hand, but he needn't have worried.

"Gwaine!" Merlin's voice sounded from the doorway, and both his and Arthur's faces appeared. The moment Arthur came into view, though, Willa shrieked. Gwaine turned to look at her just as her hands came up in front of her body, as if to defend herself. _Magic_. An invisible force hit him in the chest, sending him flying backwards and into the ground below.

He scrambled to his feet, trying to locate his weapon, which he'd somehow lost when the magical wall had shoved him backward. He heard Arthur's moan and Merlin's groan and known they were alright, but all he could see was Willa as she clambered upward 'til she was standing and stumbled out of the building. Gwaine, knight of the round table, was not going to let a little sorceress get away with besting him.

He ran out of the doorway after her, ignoring Arthur's shouted pleas for him to wait, and tried to locate her. Had she vanished into thin air? No—Merlin had told him a few months ago that the disappearing act was solely for the more experienced sorcerers. If Willa was still 'getting the hang of' magic, she couldn't have done that.

Already, Gwaine was drenched. It was pouring down rain, and he could hear thunder somewhere in the distance. The sheets of rain made it much harder to look for the sorceress, but he eventually saw something white and small moving quickly into the forest. He followed.

It was hard not to shout for her to stop, but that would just spook her, and he had no intention of being hit by a magic wall again. That hurt.

"Stop!"

Well, apparently his self-control needed some work.

She whirled around and held up a hand, and he could tell that she was about to blast him with some sort of spell. He could also tell that she really, really didn't want to. He'd been in that position before. Something about this girl begged for him to trust her, and yet he was hesitant. He had trusted Eira, and that had ended very badly. He had almost died, Guinivere had almost been widowed, and Morgana had nearly won. Still, none of that was Willa's fault. Why should she not get a second chance just because of his past mistakes?

"I know you don't want to hurt me," he said. She blinked, and he marveled at the way he could see her eyes through the rain. They were staring at him (into the very depths of his soul, he assumed) with wonder… and understanding… and gratefulness.

And then, ruining it all, that infamous invisible barrier hit him in the chest a second time.

"Oh, bloody hell," he growled. He pushed himself up yet again (how many times has he had to do this today?) and set off after her once more. He didn't get far, though, before Arthur's strong hand clapped his shoulder and the panting King was by his side.

"What… on _earth_… are you doing?" he gasped. Gwaine shrugged.

"Chasing after a woman," he replied, and took off again.

"Gwaine—Gwaine, for God's sake, wait up!"

He didn't. He just kept running, because he knew that if he didn't, she was liable to get away. He was a knight, sure, but his tracking skills were limited. Even more so in this bloody storm. If he was going to catch her and put her in her place, he had to go now, and hope that he wasn't already too late.

He got to the middle of the forest before the exhaustion caught up to him and he was forced to take shelter under a large tree to catch his breath. He really had been skimping a bit on his training to more often go to his beloved tavern, so he was a bit out of shape (not that he looked any less incredible than usual, mind you).

His mind was still reeling. He'd been so sure that, given a second chance, Willa would surrender. Gwaine spent a lot of time in bars, so (naturally) he had seen his fair share of suffering lads and lasses. He had become talented in the art of reading people. Had he really been so wrong? Somehow, he found it rather difficult to believe that the young sorceress was evil. But he knew that Morgana hadn't seemed evil before… everything.

Distantly, Gwaine was aware that someone was approaching. To be quite honest, he didn't care. He'd given up chasing Willa, so it was just as well for Arthur to catch him now.

"You can stop chasing me now, Princess," he called. The figure flinched. Funny… Arthur had never reacted that way to his royal nickname before. Been annoyed? Sure. Asked him to stop? Definitely. But he'd never, ever flinched like that before. _It wasn't Arthur._

Gwaine reached for his sword, content to run the witch through here and now, but found it to be gone.

"You… you…"

"Witch? Sorceress? Warlock?" Willa emerged into the shield of the trees, with her arms crossed and her hair dripping onto the dirt. Her breeches were wet, her teeth chattering. He felt not even an inkling of remorse. But she continued, "I've heard it all before, from all sorts of people. Don't think I haven't. But I think that you're different."

"What do you want of me?" he seethed. He wanted to run over to her and cut her head off, or capture her and see her hanged, he was so mad. He hadn't been so furious in a very long while.

"I want you to listen." Well, of all the things he'd been expecting, that was not one of them.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry I blasted you, back there. I honestly didn't mean to, but your friends were approaching. I don't want anyone else to see me."

"Why not?" he asked, and instantly regretted it. "Never mind. I do not care about your lot. You deceived me, and you will pay for your crimes." He was trying his best to put up a confident façade, but on the inside, he felt like cowering behind a bush. After his near-death encounter with Morgana, he's well aware that magic users are a force to be reckoned with. He'd rather not be tortured again. But Willa laughed, walking a few steps closer to him as he flinched violently away. Her eyes widened.

"Are you… _afraid _of me?" she asked. She looked shocked, and a bit disappointed. He clenched his jaw.

"I'm not afraid of much, witch," he seethed. "But I've faced dark magic before, and it did not end well." She sighed heavily, slumping down to the ground and sitting with her legs crossed, chin resting on the heels of her hands. He found himself instantly relaxing. He was exhausted—tired of being afraid of magic, tired of remembering Eira and Morgana's torture. At this point, he honestly didn't care if this new sorceress killed him. What all did he have to live for, anyway? And, once he was dead, he'd probably be honored as a hero.

"You'll be a martyr because you were killed by a girl?" Willa snorted. She leaned back on her elbows. "I don't think so." He blinked.

"Did you just read my mind?"

"No. You said that out loud." Hmm. Maybe his frequent trips to the bar were making him crazy, because it appeared his tongue had been permanently loosened.

"Well, I haven't got much to lose now, have I?" he said. He mirrored her position, leaning back and sighing. "Go ahead. Tell me your story."

She giggled excitedly, and some of the darkness disappeared from her eyes. For the first time, he noticed that she was actually quite pretty, when she was smiling. He shook the feeling away—women were not to be trusted… or admired.

Her expression darkened as quickly as it had softened, and her eyes grew stormy. Whereas they'd looked blue-green before, now they looked grey, sad, and hateful.

"Willa Cordan," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"That's my full name. Willa Cordan, daughter of King Leopold Cordan of Andraud."

"Andraud?" Now he was very confused. "I've never heard of that kingdom before. Is it near here?" She scoffed, looking very much put out. Somehow, her fuming glare was almost as attractive as her smile.

"Of course you bloody _knights_ in your fancy _kingdom_ haven't even heard of Andraud." He blinked again. She sighed again (it seemed that she was doing quite a lot of that lately). "It's a small kingdom to the south of Camelot. It's not visible to many, but only those who believe."

"It sounds like a fairy tale." She laughed again, and he grinned in response.

"Forgive my wording," she said. "I meant that there are many sorcerers and warlocks in the kingdom, and they have cast a powerful spell over it. Only a select few are permitted to see it, and only if they really want to."

"It still doesn't sound believable."

"When has magic ever been believable?"

He took a moment to ponder that. She was right. Magic was otherworldly, and it did not really belong here. It had always been illegal, and it probably would be again someday. He had tried his best to accept it, but it was difficult. Maybe that was a result of past encounters, but maybe it was just because it didn't seem to belong.

"As I was saying," she continued, "I am the daughter of King Leopold. I was the only child of his, until recently."

"Bloody hell… are you the crown princess?" Gwaine asked. If this girl was really a crown princess, and he had tried to kill her, he was a dead man. And if he died because he tried to kill someone of royal blood, he would certainly NOT die an honorable death.

"Was. I was the crown princess." She glared pointedly. "You know, it would be very helpful if you'd let me finish before asking all sorts of useless questions."

"Oh."

"So, a few weeks ago, my mother had another baby. A boy."

"So now you're not to be queen?" he questioned. He really couldn't help it. Annoying her was just too much fun, especially when he was still trying to decide whether he wanted to run her through with his sword or kiss her.

"What did I say about stupid questions?" she countered, effectively shutting him up. "To answer your question, no. I am not going to be queen." When he realized that she didn't look disappointed by this fact, he asked her about it, and she answered, "I never really wanted to be queen. It's a lot of pressure, and I never really thought that I would be all that good at it. In fact, even my old tutor told me I'd be a rubbish monarch."

"Why?" he wondered. "I don't think you could be all that awful. I mean, you haven't got much of a standard to live up to… the princess here is a ridiculous prat, and even his manservant thinks so." She tilted her head, and he realized how odd that must have sounded to someone who had never heard his nickname for Arthur before. "I call the King here 'princess'… it's just a nickname. Please, go on. I'd love to know what happened next."

"I never wanted to be the queen," she said, "but my father didn't know that. Once little William was born, he assumed that I would become jealous and try to steal the kingdom from my brother. So, he decided to kill me." Well, that was an interesting turn of events.

"Sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. He did what?" This was unfathomable. Not even Uther would have tried to kill his innocent daughter. Never mind—scratch that, he certainly would have, if she had had magic. Or if she had done something else to make him mad. All the same, the idea of a King trying to murder his own flesh and blood was a terrible thought, and Gwaine felt a rush of sympathy for Willa (even though he tried to stop himself, knowing that she probably didn't deserve it. Still, knowing more of her story, he was beginning to forget why he had hated her in the first place).

"He tried to kill me," she replied, and though her voice was cautiously casual, her eyes hadn't lost their dark fury. "Clearly, he did not succeed. But all the same—I am on the run." Now he sees her side of the situation. A young lady, forced to leave and fare for herself, hiding away in an abandoned cottage. She is trying not to be noticed, but in the midst of a frightening storm, a group of Camelot's most famous men (well, the King, his warlock friend, and his knights) pops in for a little visit. He recalled now that they weren't exactly quiet, either—they were making a lot on noise in the previously peaceful house, which must have scared the daylights out of Willa Cordan.

"I'm sorry," the knight found himself saying, and this time he did not regret his feelings of sorrow for the girl. She shrugged, but he could see the way her shoulders lost some of their weight, and her eyes seemed to soften a bit. She had just shared her burdens with him, and it must have felt good to get that weight—the weight of a terrible and forbidden secret—off of her chest.

Her face broke into a surprised smile, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you know," she began, her tone noticeably lighter than it had been just moments ago, "that we have been sitting here like this for a full ten minutes, and you've not reached for your sword even once?" He chuckled, glad to be moving on to more amusing subjects.

"Yes, well, you haven't tried to smack me with your magic in that time, either." At his offhand remark, her forehead creases.

"I really am very sorry about that, Sir," she said, and the title of respect was not lost on him. "I was not lying in there—I am very new to magic, and I sometimes lose control when I'm…" her voice trailed off, but he knew what came next_. Scared. Emotional. Fearing for my life._ Once, right after the ban on magic was lifted, Merlin had told him that magic was just another part of his emotions. It reacted just like everything else; hence, when a warlock became angry or frightened, their magic would react accordingly unless it had been properly trained. It reminded Gwaine of the way he had always had a tendency to lose control when someone threatened the people he cared for.

"Why is it so new to you?" he asked. "Were you not born with powers?"

"I was. I just didn't know it yet. I didn't know that I had magic until a few weeks ago, when my father told his guards to take me to the dungeons for an execution the next day. I lost control, and the next thing I knew, all the people in the room were lying on the ground. I ran, and I never looked back." Strangely, this story did not seem to affect Willa in the same way that the other part of the story had. She seemed genuinely at peace with the fact that her magic had been hidden for so many years.

"Who are you?" she asked without warning. He found himself stuttering, and feeling rather stupid for it. It was just his name, after all.

"I'm G-Gwaine," he answered. He tilted his chin upward, and added, "Knight of the round table."

"You speak your title with pride, Sir Gwaine," the princess noted softly. "Your King is a good one?" Gwaine nodded, and was about to say more, but the monarch in question stumbled into his vision, and he felt compelled to calm the jumpy sorceress at his side.

"Do not worry, Willa," he said. He rose up to full height, and then held out a hand to assist her in achieving the same position. "My king is a just one, and if you tell him your tale, he will not send you back to your kingdom or turn you in. I will vouch for you, my lady." She blushed at the title he'd given her, and accepted his outstretched hand. It appeared that he had been correct this time in his analysis of the cause of her distress, because instead of running or attacking, she just waved a hand, and Gwaine felt the weight of his sword return to his side. He smiled, then hailed Arthur.

"Your majesty! Princess, hurry up!" he called. Willa snorted, using her slightly shaking hands to smooth out her shirt. Gwaine fought the urge to snort at her suddenly ladylike behavior. Considering her attire, it was near impossible for her to look at all regal or feminine. Still, she somehow managed it. She curtseyed properly in front of the King, and then gave a very formal apology for her previous antics. Gwaine, true to his word, sided with her, and Arthur seemed to be taking it all pretty well. That is until Merlin walked over.

"What's going on here?" he asked. Gwaine noted that the warlock was clutching his wounded arm to his chest, but decided not to comment for the time being. "Is she a sorceress?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"No, Merlin," he commented dryly. "It was the wind that threw us all across the room back there." Although Gwaine had made a conscious decision to save his comments on Merlin's injury for later, apparently Willa had done no such thing.

"I can fix that," she offered, gesturing toward Merlin's arm. "It's easy." She took exactly one step toward the boy before everything seemed to explode into angry shouts and warnings.

When her hand had reached out toward Merlin, he had flinched away. Later, they would all find out that it had been due to one of his muscles spasming slightly, bringing on a fresh burst of pain. At that point, though, it looked to the protective King like his manservant was being hurt further by the new sorceress.

"Do not touch him!" he roared, and then he was running toward Willa, sword in hand. Merlin was shouting at him to stop, and Gwaine was trying to get in front of the girl, and Willa was just frozen in place for a few seconds, and then—

_Bang!_ Out of the blue, Arthur was flying into a nearby tree, and his sword was no longer anywhere to be seen. The rain was pouring down harder, and Merlin was running toward his master, who was groaning and feebly trying to push himself up. Gwaine stepped in front of Willa, worried that one of his companions might try to hurt her. She gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered. And then she was gone.

It was another month before he saw her again. He had been going to the tavern less and less, and Merlin teased him incessantly for it.

"Is the high-and-mighty Gwaine reforming himself for a _lady_?" he had mocked on many occasions, a goofy grin plastered onto his permanently joking face. Each time, Gwaine had scoffed, but never denied it, and Merlin had left him alone. At other times, Gwaine practically interrogated Merlin for information about the runaway princess. As it turned out, Merlin had known about Andraud, and had even known about Willa.

"It was in a book I read once," he had said. Gwaine had rolled his eyes—of course Merlin had remembered nearly every detail from the magic books he read, when he could never seem to remember the details of Arthur's preferred breakfast. But Merlin had just continued. "When I read about the king, he sounded pretty fair. His daughter was actually the jewel of his very existence."

"Those books tend to romanticize things," Gwaine had pointed out. Merlin just nodded.

"It also said," he had added, "that she was very beautiful and attracted many rich suitors. Did it romanticize that, do you think?" And then, being Merlin, he had slipped out of the room and left Gwaine with his (rather unpleasantly jealous) thoughts.

He hadn't noticed her beauty right away, of course. Then again, maybe he had. Hadn't he been making a conscious effort to ignore her looks since the moment he first laid eyes on her? She was a lovely thing, but she was tough, too. She'd very nearly bested him in a swordfight, and she had impressed him with her ability to cope with the situation she had been placed in. After the encounter, Merlin had remarked that she was one of the most powerful warlocks he'd ever seen, despite her gender, and Gwaine had felt proud. What right did he have to pride when she didn't even have a right to her kingdom?

All of his thoughts circled around her nowadays. It was difficult to think about anything else, when all he dreamed about was her smile. For God's sake, he sounded like a lovesick puppy!

Arthur obviously had not apologized for his rash actions, but he had shown a bit of remorse for causing Gwaine to 'pout, slink around, and feel sorry for himself'. The King had recovered nicely from the head injury sustained during his collision with the tree, and had actually felt rather bad for scaring the girl off. That didn't keep him from making snide comments and excuses for his rampage.

"It was clear that Gwaine was smitten with her," he had snorted. "I was just trying to show her what she was getting into."

In the end, she found him when he least expected it. He had liked that about her in their first meeting—she could catch him off guard, and that was not an easy task. Even when he was so drunk he didn't know up from down, he liked to think that he was fairly good at keeping his guard up. He had always assumed that if anyone would get past his reflexes, it would be Percival or another one of the more skilled knights. In the end, it was a little princess.

He was practicing his swordplay, to tell the truth. Although he was careful not to admit it to any of his comrades, Willa had embarrassed him a bit with her superior knowledge of fighting tactics. And now that he was doing his best to avoid the tavern, Gwaine had loads of time on his hands that he didn't know what to do with. He had decided to devote it to becoming better at his job. So, today, he had pulled out his sword and attacked an unsuspecting tree that was nearby. He was defeating it quite admirably, in his own opinion.

"You're getting better at that."

He froze. He didn't know what else there was to do, really. Her voice (music to his ears, if he was being honest) had come from behind him, so he didn't even try to stop the ridiculous grin that spread over his face. He continued to strike the tree, but it was getting increasingly difficult. His blade kept getting stuck in ruts from earlier blows. When his sword finally got lodged in one rut so far that he knew it was useless to try and retrieve it, he finally turned around.

"I haven't seen you in a long time," he said. He'd been going for casual, but some of his enthusiasm had seeped through, making him sound like a giddy young boy who had just signed up for training to become a knight. She laughed.

"It hasn't been _that _long," she replied. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Only a month." This time, she wasn't wearing boy's clothing. She was dressed in a dark blue dress that would look rubbish on anyone but her. She had probably gotten it from some peasant's store, or something like that, and it brought out the blue in her eyes. For a moment, he was unable to speak. He only just managed to shake himself out of it when he noticed that she was holding something out to him.

He held his hand out and she dropped something in it—something red. A piece of cloth.

"What's this?" he asked dumbly. He felt like a complete fool, but there was nothing he could really do to change that at this point. This lass could reduce him to a bumbling oaf just by brushing his fingers with her own.

"It's a piece of your cloak. Must've come off while we were fighting."

"Oh." Why was she giving it to him now? Why did she wait so long? Why did she come back? Was it only to give him this? Is she just going to vanish again? He wanted to ask Willa all of these questions and more, but all that came out was a strangled, "Why?"

"I'm tired of hiding, Gwaine," she said softly. "I want to live again, and if your 'just king' is still willing to accept me, I'd like to stay here. If that's alright with you, of course."

"That is… yes, that'd be… I am so very alright with that, Willa," he found himself muttering. His gaze was transfixed on the small piece of cloth in his hands. The maiden took a step closer to him.

"I kept it with me, you know." That sentence was enough to force him to look up at her.

"Really?"

"Yes. It gave me hope that I might have a place to call home, even though I thought I could never have that again." He smiles, but is unable to stay anything. It's funny—with any other woman, he would have turned up the charm right now. With one of his famous grins and winks, he would have taken them to his quarters. He had a feeling, though, that Willa would just smack him. And so, at a loss for words, he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed her.

It was just a peck, really. It wasn't even really enough to be called a proper kiss. And so, considering her bold nature, he was hardly surprised when (after he broke away) she grabbed his shirt and gave him a really, _really _nice kiss—one that left him breathless and dazed and lightheaded but happy all at the same time.

From one of the towers, the King and Queen and their Court Sorcerer all looked on with fondness.

"How did you do it, Merlin?" Arthur asked. "I knew were a sappy fellow, but I never would've assumed you were a matchmaker as well." Merlin shrugged and gave his friend a secretive smile.

"I simply got the word out to the nearby villages that a certain knight was looking for a certain lady, and that she wouldn't be disappointed if she came here and vied for his affections. I knew that the former Princess of Andraud wouldn't be able to miss something like that." Gwen laughed, and leaned her head on her husband's shoulder.

"I'm glad," she said kindly. "Gwaine deserves to have happiness, and he does look very happy with this girl." The group turned their attention to the couple near the forest, now sitting cross-legged in front of each other and talking animatedly. They appeared to be laughing over their past scuffle, if their hand motions were any indication. Gwen smiled fondly, and Arthur kissed the top of her head.

"Now," he said. "If only we could somehow pair someone up with Percival…"

**_I was originally going to make Willa a brunette, but I wanted to have Gwaine face another person who resembled Eira—his love who became his undoing—and realize that he could overcome the fear that I think he'd have of falling for someone like that again. I hope he's not too out of character :) I realize that this is painfully sappy, and I honestly didn't want it to become like that. But I watched the new Cinderella movie, and I honestly couldn't help it!_**

_**Again, I was really hesitant to post this... especially since I'm nearly positive that half the details are incorrect. Please review and tell me what I did well and could have done better, but be nice!**_


End file.
